


The Bite That Binds

by zeitheist



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Facials, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitheist/pseuds/zeitheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inappropriate boner time with the Dragonborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bite That Binds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the anon who wanted 'inappropriate boner time with Finn'.
> 
> In case you haven't guessed by now, Finn (or Findulain) is my Dragonborn. [Here](http://barkpretty.tumblr.com/post/66231447037/the-ethereal-elven-overhaul-mod-and-by) is a visual aid. His ability to pop a boner over inappropriate things is a [running joke](http://barkpretty.tumblr.com/post/64965490087/shortly-after-finn-is-inducted-into-the), but this turned out more ' _doing_ inappropriate things with a boner'. For this, and so many other things, I'm sorry.

Teldryn still isn’t sure whether or not he’s supposed to know that the Circle are werewolves. On the one hand, Finn hasn’t gone to great lengths to keep it a secret from him; he’d transformed within a day of hiring Teldryn, and when Teldryn had inquired, Finn had simply shrugged despite the point of Teldryn's sword at his neck and said something about an _initiation gift_. Since then he had transformed several more times, without apparent concern for discretion or moderation. This included more than one incident where Finn had transformed solely to frolic in slivers of forest or small pools of standing water, or chase unfortunate woodland creatures through the trees, inevitably leaving Teldryn to sigh and contemplate picking up the trail of armor that Finn had left in his wake. 

Teldryn isn’t sure it’s possible to be _less_ secretive about something than that.

On the other hand, the Circle’s behaviour towards him suggests that he definitely _isn't_ supposed to know. Granted, their behaviour towards him has been fairly hostile to begin with; for all Teldryn knows, Vilkas and Farkas may actually be the same surly, scowling person. There had been some not so subtle hints of their dislike, like the way conversation tended to stop dead whenever Teldryn enters the room. Or the way Farkas would suddenly start speaking in eyebrow gestures and phrases like, _you know… the thing we were talking about_ , the expression on his face akin to a man undergoing a particularly difficult bowel movement. It would have been funny if it didn’t feel so insulting, the way that Finn’s guild-mates have seemingly assumed that Teldryn is both stupid as well as untrustworthy.

Aela, at least, had the courtesy not to obfuscate: she would simply tell Teldryn to get out so that she and Finn could discuss guild business.Then again, _discussing guild business_ could actually be a euphemism for _have sex_. Finn and Aela have never been shy about their activities, but there's a difference between keeping Teldryn awake with their groaning in the middle of the night, and actually allowing him to be an active participant.

The only positive element to the whole sorry tale is that Teldryn is fairly sure that the lower-ranking members of the Companions have no idea about the Circle's provlivities, which means that not only is he already more knowledgeable about their guild than all of them put together, but also that they have no reason to be wary of him beyond the initial, short-lived awkwardness. They bond over long nights drinking in the great hall, whilst the Circle are away doing whatever it is that werewolves do over long, cold Windrun nights. Athis seems particularly pleased to have another dark elf around, no doubt because it upsets Njada so much, and Teldryn could lose whole eras of his life drinking with Torvald. They're not the kinds of friends he might choose for himself, but they're engaging company in a pinch. Their budding companionship is particularly useful because, as Teldryn is beginning to discover, Finn’s life isn’t the whirlwind of adventure that he’d imagined it would be. There are periods of time where Finn is either engaged in secret Companions business, engaged in secret Dragonborn business, tupping somebody he shouldn't be, or sleeping off the combined exertions of all three. Teldryn finds that he has a lot of time to himself, which he spends either in the main hall or availing himself of the personal library apparently left behind by Finn’s predecessor, the mysterious and venerated Kodlak. Sometimes he feels like he should be bored kicking his heels in some dusty Nord stronghold, but that’s the beauty of Finn’s particular brand of adventure: infrequent as it is, it tends to be enough to necessitate several days of recovery afterwards. 

Like now, for example. Teldryn and Finn had returned from Riften a few days prior, later than they should have done thanks to the nagging limp that Teldryn had brought back with him. Finn had been wearing a bruise across the left side of his face, his abdomen wrapped in enough gauze to hopefully hold his insides in until they could find a healer. Both courtesy of a dragon attack, naturally. The Circle had received Finn with poorly-concealed concern, and Teldryn had been left to the other Companions' chattering as Farkas led Finn downstairs, presumably to tend to his wounds and pine at him in stoic silence. Teldryn had watched them go, not bothering to hide his amusement, until someone had pressed a flagon of ale into his battle-stiff hands, and effectively stolen the next few hours from him.

The plan had been to rest for a spell and recuperate their strength before journeying north, but Teldryn knows from experience that Finn’s tolerance for idleness is far shorter than his. Sure enough, Finn had announced his intention to leave again just a few days later, this time with the rest of the Circle. There had been no question as to whether or not Teldryn was invited along on this particular trip, and he knew better than to push for it. 

_We’re going hunting_ , Finn had said, with a vicious gleam in his eye, and Teldryn had wisely decided he didn’t want to know.

It had been surprisingly easy to fill his time. He had read. Cleaned his armor. Read some more. Treated his twisted ankle with potions and daily gentle walks around Whiterun. Maintained his haircut. Poked around Finn’s room. Slept in Finn’s bed, far bigger than his own and twice as luxurious. Went out into the courtyard to fire some arrows into targets, whilst Ria and Athis commentated. Drank in the great hall with the other Companions. Nursed the inevitable hangover the next morning. He had barely recovered from the latter when Finn returned, in the same way that a battering ram will eventually return, if thrown with enough force.

Teldryn had spent the morning sleeping off the lingering headache and, upon waking, had been content to stretch out across Finn’s bed and start thumbing through a slightly worn copy of _Lost Legends_. He had vague plans of venturing upstairs at some point after he'd completed the book, to avail himself of food and water. Perhaps he would even put on a shirt for the occasion. Whiterun is enjoying a relatively mild spring, and the chances are good that Teldryn will be able to enjoy a stroll around the town. If he's lucky, he might be able to pick up some information from the guards, who occasionally deigned to throw him scraps of information that they considered too paltry to be of any worth.

He’s just settling into the idea of another day spent idling around Jorrvaskr when the door is thrown open, with enough violence that the force of it overturns a nearby table.

Teldryn takes one look at his employer, who is shirtless, streaked with sweat and grinning like a madman, and carefully marks his page. He sets the book aside on a night-stand, and sends up a small prayer that it’ll survive what’s about to happen.

“Have a nice hunt, did we?” he asks, in tones of polished calm.

In answer, Finn launches himself onto the bed like he’s diving into something significantly less solid, like a pool of water. Teldryn grunts as he finds himself with an armful of warm, excited wood elf, and it's only Teldryn's fast reflexes that allow him to avoid a knee to the gut. His hands automatically go to the small of Finn’s back to arrest his movement, where the smooth skin is damp and sticky-hot beneath his palms. Finn growls happily into the curve of Teldryn’s neck, and sets his teeth there without gentleness. This explains the urgency, as does the solid hardness which is now poking Teldryn in the belly.

“My, my,” Teldryn says, with a pointed roll of his hips. “Did you carry that all the way here?”

Finn looks up, and his face is alight with savage glee. “That depends,” he says, though he's too strung out to be properly nonchalant.

“On?”

“On whether you have a use for it.”

“Oh _dear_ ,” Teldryn says, with a smirk. “Farkas turn you down again, hmm?”

Finn growls again, this time with an edge of warning, but Teldryn doesn’t give him a chance to work himself into a proper sulk. He isn’t particularly interested in Finn’s reply anyway. His employer’s relationship with the enigmatic Farkas is entertaining at times, typically when one could place bets on it with the other Companions, but there’s limited fun to be had in watching such a sustained and frustrating courtship. At any rate, it isn’t important right now. Finn is here, with him. Teldryn punctuates this point by gripping the short, soft hair at the back of Finn’s neck and using his hold to drag Finn down. Finn goes easily, up to a point. He sinks into Teldryn with a purr, but the minute their mouths meet he bites Teldryn’s lip hard enough to make Teldryn hiss.

There’s blood on Finn’s face, caught in the corners and crevices that a quick scrub in a stream couldn’t quite wash away. His war-paint is gone the same way, save for a few artistic-looking smudges in the hollows of his eyes. Teldryn sucks at the edge of Finn’s mouth and tastes iron.

“Tell me, oh great employer,” he murmurs, interspersing his words with a series of gentle bites. “What helpless woodland creature did you slaughter this time?”

Finn’s answering grin is savage, and Teldryn shivers involuntarily. He nips at Finn’s lips; gentler than Finn had done to him, because Teldryn has absolutely no desire to wake up from this little dalliance sporting claws and fur.

“We killed a mammoth,” Finn says, breathless with something more than what Teldryn is doing to him. His hips roll restlessly against Teldryn’s leg. “And then we killed the giant guarding it.”

That explains the excitement, Teldryn thinks, not to mention why Finn has come to him sporting an erection that could knock over Dragonsreach. He doesn’t even pretend to understand what it is about the hunt that gets Finn so excited, though he’s experienced it first-hand enough times to form a theory. His time as Finn’s guide in Solstheim had been interesting in that sense, to say the least, Finn burning up with vengeance and the thrill of the chase. He hadn’t come out of Miraak's realm so much as he had _exploded_ out of it, high on his own victory and crackling with bloodlust. He had barely paused to assess his surroundings before he jumped at Teldryn, bearing them both to the floor. Teldryn had been briefly afraid that his employer planned to rip his throat out with his teeth. As it transpired, Finn had been insensate with something other than brutality. 

Not that their coupling had been any less violent for it, mind. Teldryn has met a great many men who get their pleasure from the struggling of their prey. He hadn’t met anyone who took it quite so literally, until Finn.

It should frighten him, but it doesn’t. Desire is a dumb beast, easily led, and Finn’s is easier led than most. He's actually _more_ manageable like this, an uncomplicated creature with uncomplicated needs.

Still, Teldryn does have _some_ standards, and it's well past time that he enforces them. 

“Mmm, much as we’ve established that I’m not squeamish about that sort of thing,” he murmurs, as he reaches down to trace the shape of Finn's hardness through his breeches. “I’m afraid I draw the line at giant blood. Best go wash it off.”

“Ordering me around, Teldryn?” Finn says, but he sounds amused.

“Yep. I’ll make it worth your while, though, how about that?”

“Seems like you’re already making it worth my while,” Finn says, as he rubs himself shamelessly against Teldryn’s fingers. 

Teldryn watches his employer’s face with no small amount of amusement of his own, the way Finn relaxes into the pleasure, his head dropping back to offer his throat. It‘s a very pretty sight, but--

Finn growls unhappily when Teldryn removes his hand, but Teldryn is unmoved. _Standards_.

“Go,” Teldryn says, with a pointed shove to Finn's shoulder. “Basin’s over there.”

That earns him another snarl, but Finn gets up and goes over to the basin with surprising obedience when Teldryn had half-expected him to press the issue. He had once before, kicking off a violent scuffle that had ended with Teldryn bruised and panting, holding Finn’s head in the crook of his elbow whilst trying to simultaneously keep his knee on the back of Finn’s legs. From what he remembers, it had been like trying to hold down an eel. As far as conclusions to their encounters usually went, that one hadn't been strictly _un_ enjoyable, but it isn't something that Teldryn cares to repeat. This is a much better outcome, at least as far as he's concerned. Teldryn stretches out across the sheets, folds his arm beneath his head, and just _watches_. Now that Finn is away from him, Teldryn can see things he couldn’t before, like the enormous, blood-colored bruise on the back of Finn’s shoulder. He can also appreciate other, less virtuous things. Like the way Finn tapers in the middle, neat waist and a long, smooth curve from back to buttocks, the skin at his waist unmarked save for a healing contusion low on one hip. Teldryn knows that particular curve well: he knows how it tastes, how it feels under his hands, how the muscles beneath it shift sleekly as Finn moves above him. 

Now _there’s_ an idea. He hums thoughtfully.

There’s no way to make scrubbing your face at the basin attractive, so Finn doesn’t even try, just picks up the cloth and begins savaging himself with it. Teldryn, for his part, doesn’t have to work to appreciate what that does for the muscles in Finn’s upper arms. He knows what those taste like, too; has set his teeth right into the curve of Finn’s bicep, as Finn squirmed and growled beneath him, his hands lashed to the headboard with leather strips thinning under the strain. _Always_ a fun game.

Finn must feel Teldryn’s gaze on him, because he half-turns and raises an eyebrow in question. “See something you like?”

“Tell me, has that line _ever_ worked on anybody?” Teldryn asks, with no particular interest.

Finn shrugs. “It’s a novelty for Nords, apparently.”

Teldryn snorts. _Everything_ about Finn’s sexual forthrightness is novelty for Nords. With a few notable exceptions, the Nords that Teldryn has met have been depressingly tame when it comes to sex. Take Farkas, for example. Or don’t, as the case often is. 

“Speaking of which,” Teldryn says, “where _is_ the rest of your charming harem?”

Having washed his face successfully, Finn is now wiping the cloth over his chest and collarbones. Well, if he wants to take a standing bath for Teldryn's benefit, then Teldryn isn’t about to stop him.

“Don’t let them hear you saying that,” Finn warns, though he grins as he says it in a way that says he wouldn't mind of Teldryn did. “They’re sleeping it off somewhere, probably. They know better than to bother me, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

That hadn’t been what Teldryn was asking at all, but he’s not particularly interested in prolonging the conversation anymore. He'll take chunks out of the Circle later, when he and Finn have finished what they've started. 

Finn doesn’t startle when Teldryn comes up behind him, but when Teldryn presses his chest against the curve of Finn’s back he can feel the way Finn’s breath catches and holds in his lungs. Then again, that might have something to do with Teldryn's cloth-covered dick pressing into the still-clothed cleft of Finn’s ass. Or it could be that Finn lets people come up behind him only through great force of will, and that he still can’t control the instinctive anxiety it causes. Any explanation is good enough for Teldryn. He won’t pretend to be altruistic enough that the idea of nudging Finn off-kilter doesn’t appeal to him, and either way the sensation is enjoyable enough that he doesn't care what caused it. Teldryn can feel Finn start to breathe again, cautiously, the way his body seems to rise a little and then fall again. He can feel Finn’s heartbeat too, strongest in the little hollow between his shoulderblades. There’s a slight height differential between them, and it’s more obvious when they stand together like this; Finn’s shoulders are only roughly as high as Teldryn’s collarbones, and when Teldryn rocks his hips forward with deliberate gentleness, his clothed dick doesn't quite fit in the crease, and instead bumps against the small of Finn's back. 

The good news is that he's the perfect height to rest his chin on the top of Finn’s head. 

Finn must be in a particularly magnanimous mood, because he allows Teldryn to dig his chin into the top of his skull with a warning growl that constitutes as mild by his standards. Teldryn wraps one arm around Finn’s waist, and uses his other hand to take the cleaning cloth out of Finn’s hand. He drops it in the vague direction of the basin, not caring whether it makes it there or not. It's not _his_ floors that he’s ruining, after all. 

“It may surprise you,” he says, circling back to their earlier conversation after all, “but I’m too old to care whether your associates know that we’re having sex.” 

“Oh, really?” There’s a velvet note to Finn’s voice that doesn’t exactly bode well for what he’s about to say next. “Or could it be that you’re just gloating that I chose you over them?” 

“Now _darling_ ,” Teldryn purrs, even as he smooths a palm over the faint, crisp dusting of hair on Finn’s lower belly. “Do you really think me so petty?” 

Finn laughs at that, but it goes a little strangled as Teldryn manages to slip clever fingertips past the hem of Finn’s breeches and touch them the soft, wet head of Finn’s cock. Then it’s Teldryn’s turn to laugh, as Finn shamelessly cants his hips up into the contact. Finn’s control over his body is iron and absolute, up until the point someone is doing something pleasurable to him, and then he apparently can’t stop himself from humping Teldryn’s hand like a dog. His employer is easy like that - although show Teldryn a race who don’t roll over for belly-rubs and he’ll show you a race that will eventually take over Tamriel. Teldryn obligingly moves his fingers so that Finn can rub the head of his dick against them, not least because the slight wriggle of Finn’s ass is doing _wonderful_ things for his own arousal. 

He hides his own grin against the bruise on Finn’s shoulder, with an ungentle bite that makes Finn cry out in something that isn’t completely pleasure, though it isn’t entirely pain either. 

“That hurts, _s’wit_ ,” Finn snaps. His pronunciation is terrible. 

"Quiet, _n’wah_ ,” Teldryn fires back, although he’s mostly teasing. 

Finn grumbles but subsides easily enough, perhaps because Teldryn hasn’t removed his hand and is still allowing Finn to rub his cock against his fingertips. They're already wet with precome, and when Teldryn rubs his thumb across the cap of Finn's dick, it goes in a smooth, only slightly sticky drag. Teldryn's free hand is still curled around Finn’s hip, where he can feel all the coiled power in Finn’s body moving like the plates of the earth back in Solstheim, right before the inevitable quakes start. 

Finn is as hard as dragonbone, and Teldryn has absolutely no doubt that he's been sporting an erection since the moment his fur receded. Which meant that he _has_ chosen Teldryn, in a way. He finds himself inclined to reward the initiative. 

Finn whines piteously when Teldryn removes his hand, but Teldryn remains unmoved by his employer’s distress: he’s spent long enough around Finn to be immune to most of his charms. Instead, he uses both hands to nudge Finn’s hips pointedly, and is pleased when Finn goes where he’s directed without resistance. There’s no way he could know what Teldryn is planning to do to him, which means that he really is happy for Teldryn to take the lead. The thought fills Teldryn with a warmth that is entirely inappropriate for what they’re doing, and he can’t help but dip his head to kiss Finn deeply. 

Goodness, but he’s getting sentimental in his old age. 

One kiss naturally merges into several kisses, each deeper and longer than the last, until eventually Teldryn has to force himself to move his mouth away. Not _too_ far: he can’t seem to help himself from immediately latching onto Finn’s neck. Finn doesn’t help matters by obligingly dropping his head back, baring more of his throat to Teldryn’s mouth. Teldryn digs his canines carefully into the sinew and muscle and feels, more than hears, the noise that Finn makes in response, buzzing against his lips. 

He hums and noses his way further down, stopping briefly to nip at Finn’s collarbones, his shoulders, at the slightly muscled swell of his chest. Ungentle teeth around one of Finn’s nipples earns him a shuddering groan, and Teldryn pauses in order to torment a little, biting and licking until Finn is a shivering mess and his hand is clenching and unclenching against the shaved part of Teldryn’s scalp. 

He could do this all day. He plans to, in fact, as soon as he gets the right day. He has detailed fantasies of laying Finn out across his bed - or someone else’s bed, or a bed of wildflowers, the setting isn't particularly crucial - and tasting him all over. 

Not that he hasn’t done that before, of course, but it would stand up well to repetition. 

He abandons Finn’s upper body and sinks to his knees, with what he feels is an absolute minimum of undignified wobbling and aged bone-cracking. It's still not as graceful as he had been, in his youth. He suppresses a wince when his knees grate against the hard floor, settles back against his heels and stares up the long, lean expanse of Finn's body. He can't imagine what kind of sight he makes on his knees like this, but Finn seems to like what he sees; Teldryn can feel the way he sucks in a breath, the muscles of his stomach going tense beneath Teldryn's palm. 

“I feel like I should make you apologize for insulting me in my own language,” Teldryn muses, though he ruins the illusion almost immediately by nosing into the cloth-covered crease of Finn’s thigh. “It was very hurtful, you see, and proper manners are important.” 

One of Finn’s hands grabs the ridge of hair on top of Teldryn’s head and yanks it. _Hard_. 

“I could show you hurtful,” Finn offers, mildly. 

“Mmm,” Teldryn says, “maybe next time.” He doesn’t even pretend not to be triumphant when Finn’s cock twitches noticeably through the fabric of his clothing. It’s an idle promise, as they both well know, but for a handful of moments Teldryn is very, _very_ tempted to make it a reality. 

It’s easy to loosen Finn’s breeches slightly and slip them down, since they’re already hanging off his hips anyway. Finn’s cock is so hard that it springs free almost on its own, livid red and already slick at the tip. The sight of it is enough to make Teldryn’s mouth water, and that’s before the familiar scent hits him, musk and salt-sharpness, so thick that he can already _taste_ it. 

He doesn’t bother with niceties, mostly because he suspects that Finn is too far gone to appreciate them anyway. He flattens his tongue briefly underneath the head, just long enough to get a proper taste, and then takes the whole thing into his mouth. 

Finn groans deeply. The hand in Teldryn’s hair flexes, shaking a little. 

It isn’t easy to smile around a mouthful of cock, but Teldryn manages to make the effort anyway. 

This isn’t something he does for Finn particularly often, not because he doesn’t enjoy it but because moldering ruins, crypts, and caves don’t usually lend themselves to leisurely dick-sucking. It tends to be a treat reserved for the rare times when they’re together in an actual _bed_ \- or, Teldryn thinks wryly, standing next to a table with a basin of dirty water on it. 

The bed is only a few steps away, so he supposes it’ll have to count. 

And he does enjoy doing it, particularly the way the head of Finn’s cock fits so perfectly in his mouth, as if it were shaped just so. He likes the feel of it, the generous plushness of it, the flesh giving enough to make rubbing his tongue across it an addictively tactile sensation. He likes the way that hooking his tongue against the underside of the head makes Finn whimper and shake, and the way that slow, leisurely sucks make him keen and rise onto his toes, like he isn't sure if he wants to get closer or get away. He encircles the rest of Finn’s cock with his hand, rubbing his thumb gently against the underside, where the skin is velvet soft across steely hardness. The slightly curved spine of it fits neatly against his palm, and he tickles his fingertips against the thick vein on the underside just to feel Finn squirm. Teldryn's fingers are quickly becoming wet with his own saliva, easing the slow up-and-down glide of his hand around Finn's dick. 

The fingers in his hair tug slightly, and Finn makes a sound that manages to be both disgusted and deeply wanting. “Stop _playing _,” he says, though it’s less a command than a desperate plea.__

Teldryn doesn’t bother replying, partly because what he’s doing is more enjoyable but mostly because he suspects that Finn may actually break precedent and turn into a werewolf if he did. He sucks gently on the head of Finn’s cock instead, his tongue licking back and forth over the tip with incredible delicacy. Teldryn can’t say he particularly likes the bitterness that floods his mouth, but he does like the way Finn’s cock twitches right before it drips. Besides, he’s a Dunmer. His tolerance for awful-tasting substances is probably higher than most. 

He realizes that Finn is beginning to rock back and forth into his mouth and places his free hand on his hip, just in case he gets any bright ideas about thrusting. Finn's body flexes once into his grip, and then goes docile. 

It’s likely not the best blowjob that Finn has ever gotten - in fact Teldryn is almost certain it isn’t, simply because of the number that Finn has to compare from - but a glance confirms that Finn isn’t exactly in a position to complain. His head has fallen back in bliss, which unfortunately means that Teldryn can’t see what expression is on his face, but his free hand is white-knuckled around the table edge. He seems to be putting a lot of effort into not disgracing himself by trying to fuck Teldryn's mouth, which is both unusual and deeply appreciated. 

His other hand is still resting in Teldryn’s hair, but the grip isn’t as punishing as it was before. It seems to be petting, now, rather than grasping. 

Teldryn suddenly wishes he had a hand free to palm his own cock, which feels like it’s about to pop the seam on his breeches. Now that he has noticed it, it’s impossible _not_ to notice. The insistent little urge drives him to suck a harder on the plummy head of Finn’s dick, which in turn makes Finn groan, which makes Teldryn feel a little like someone has plucked a bowstring in his chest that’s tied directly to his own cock. He can’t help but groan and squirm a little in response, and against his better judgement he releases Finn's dick in order to palm his own through the worn-thin material of his sleeping clothes. 

Finn's head comes back down like he’s not fully in control of it, and he looks at Teldryn with an expression of fierce wonder. “Teldryn, are you--” 

In response, Teldryn tightens his mouth around the head of Finn’s dick and _suckles_. 

“Ohhhh,” Finn purrs, and then has the gall to _smirk_ at Teldryn. “Someone likes that.” 

Teldryn could take his mouth off Finn’s dick at this point, he knows, but it would be far more satisfying to simply establish his victory over him. With that in mind, he redoubles his efforts, sucking _hard_ on the head of Finn’s dick, his tongue flicking against the leaking tip, making sure to tickle the little indent there where the taste of him is the strongest, where the moisture beads in bitter little pearls. Even Teldryn's fastidious neatness can't quite account for how much he salivates over this. He seals his lips around Finn's cock and sucks again, swallowing the mix of saliva and bitter salt that had been threatening to drip free. His mouth pushes and pulls around Finn's cock, tongue tapping it against Teldryn's soft palate as his throat works. 

The noise Finn makes is somewhere between a groan and a whine. “Tel--” 

Teldryn somehow manages _not_ to bite the head of Finn’s dick off as he’s suddenly dragged back by the hair, but it’s a close-run thing. Mid-swallow, his mouth slips free with an obscenely loud sucking sound. 

It seems to be that, more than anything else, that sends Finn over the edge. He moans deeply and comes, straight onto Teldryn’s upturned face. 

Teldryn manages to close his eyes in time to avoid getting temporarily blinded, but he makes no move to actually shove Finn away, which he feels says a lot about their relationship. Besides, it isn’t _entirely_ unpleasant, at least to start. Finn’s come is startlingly hot, and he can feel every drop as it stripes across his face like the lash of a whip. Marking him. Some of it lands across his mouth, and he licks it off without really thinking about it. Finn stares and makes a pleading sound high in his throat, and Teldryn is so pleased that he does it again, making sure to go about it _extra slowly_ this time. 

Finn groans. “You did that on purpose,” he accuses shakily. 

“Why, whatever gave you that idea?” Teldryn replies. 

The hand in his hair disappears, and Teldryn feels abruptly cold without it. Now that Finn has stopped painting his face white, Teldryn finds that the appeal is starting to wear off by the second. He's suddenly aware of how sticky he is, how he has to hold his head craned back to stop dripping across the floor, and he can’t open his left eye for fear of what might happen to it. There’s come _in his eyelashes_. To add insult to injury, his cock is still throbbing hotly in his breeches, only now there are more pressing matters at hand than tending to it. 

Finn takes one look at his face and begins to laugh. 

“You big baby,” he says, as he reaches back to fetch the cloth out of the basin. “Here.” 

Teldryn obligingly sits still whilst Finn wipes his face clean, with surprising diligence. _This is nice_ , he thinks. _Being taken care of like this_. He could get used to this part. On balance, though... 

“That,” he says, as Finn swipes the cloth over his eyes, “is _never_ happening again.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Finn says, “I enjoyed it.” 

“If you do that to me again,” Teldryn continues, “I will make you clean it off me with your tongue.” 

There’s a slight, almost embarrassed pause. 

Teldryn sighs. “ _Honestly?_ ” 

The cloth disappears, and Teldryn is surprised to find two slight, slim-fingered hands cradling either side of his face with something like tenderness. He’s slightly less surprised when Finn uses the grip on his face to turn him this way and that, the pressure gentle but insistent. Back in control again. Ah, well. It had been fun whilst lasted. Teldryn consents to the manhandling, though his hand presses absently at his own erection, still held back by a layer of cloth. It's not enough to bring him off, but it eases some of the nagging sensation. 

“Teldryn,” Finn says, as if he suspects that Teldryn is being deliberately dense. “You’re talking to someone who woke up this morning with the blood of three different creatures in his mouth, and whose response to that was to get so hard that he could barely walk.” 

“That’s not quite the same.” 

“It’s _exactly_ the same.” Finn says, but he declines to explain why. Instead he releases Teldryn’s face and pats the side of Teldryn’s head with an open palm. “Now, get up on the bed and let me return the favor.” 

Now _that’s_ more like it. Teldryn rises from his knees, shucking his breeches as he goes, and follows Finn to their bed. 


End file.
